


blood seeping from cuts (it's just the way it works)

by blueism



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Bad Parenting, Child Abuse, Clay | Dream and Toby Smith | Tubbo are Siblings, Clay | Dream-centric (Video Blogging RPF), Gen, adfds, boom - Freeform, but why would you think that anyway, disclaimer: Schlatt's not actually like this so, done, done with the tag edits, dont think he is, eh, ok, pleas titles are so hahreds, those are just cameos mainly, wait no
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-22
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-12 18:36:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29638908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueism/pseuds/blueism
Summary: In which I procrastinate immensely and produce this monster in about two hours
Relationships: Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream & Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream & Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream & Toby Smith | Tubbo, Toby Smith | Tubbo & TommyInnit
Comments: 13
Kudos: 169





	blood seeping from cuts (it's just the way it works)

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Bruises Are Dark, Like the Night](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29556804) by [NerdyBoiYeet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NerdyBoiYeet/pseuds/NerdyBoiYeet). 



> ty
> 
> ALSO ENDING IS SUPER RUSHED PLEASE YELL AT ME
> 
> oh frick i forgot to link the fic this was inspired by shoot me

Dream was 2 when Tubbo arrived. He was fine with it, the looks that the adults gave were directed away from him, onto the loud newcomer. They gushed happy and congratulatory praises, and Dream knew that those were happy noises. He liked the sound of them, it made him feel safe and warm inside. He could just sit there and draw however much he liked without disturbance. Dream decided he liked Tubbo, just because of the diverted attention. He didn’t dwell further than that, after all, why would a 2 year old?

\----

He was 5 when he and Tubbo began to bond, even with the lack of proper communication on the part of the 3-year-old. He spent more time with Tubbo, blissfully ignorant of the barbed words exchanged commonly between their two parents, knowledge of their fighting hidden by bricks and smothered by laughter shared between two children. Dream now liked Tubbo further than just the attention he drew away from him.

He was sitting next to his brother, the room decorated with green. It was dark, like pine green, and Dream preferred lighter shades, but to each their own, right? It didn’t distract from his brother, anyway. He was pretty content, all things considered. He had nothing to worry about. His parents seemed outwardly okay, after all!

\----

Dream was 7 when he noticed something brewing between his parents, and it wasn’t benign. He didn’t speak about it, not to Tubbo, and certainly not to his parents. He just observed them, noticing the small glares at the dinner table exchanged between the two whenever one spoke over the other. Dream kept quiet. He noticed the way that at night when they thought that he and Tubbo were asleep comfortably, they hissed at each other about a variety of topics that little young him could not comprehend. Dream kept quiet. He watched as they flinched away from any physical contact, whether it be an uneasily passed glass of water to keep up the pretense of everything being fine, or at nighttime again, where young him heard the sound of skin hitting skin and small, muffled yelps of pain. Dream kept quiet, like always.

It didn’t matter much anyway, right? They’d solve it; they were smart enough! Dream was sure of it.

\----

He was 8 when it worsened. They didn’t even bother to hide it anymore, the locked door blocking Dream’s room from the hallway doing nothing to stop the yells and screams that echoed through the living room by the two constantly fighting figures. Now he could distinguish some things, something about child custody. Dream wasn’t sure what it meant, and every time at night, when he was about to doze off, he promised himself that he’d search it up, yet in the morning, every time, he’d forget. Another thing came from it too, Tubbo flinching every time a loud noise filtered through, to which Dream would always soothe him. Tubbo was in Dream’s room a lot lately, not wanting to linger in his own room. 

“Dre?” Tubbo asked, tears rolling down his cheeks like liquid glass and yanking at Dream’s heart, he wanted to remove them.

“Yeah, Tubs?” Dream asked, wincing slightly as he heard the sound of real glass shattering sharply.

“They-they’ll be fine, right?” Tubbo asked uneasily, sniffling uselessly as he tried to regain composure.

“Yeah,” Dream soothed, plastering on a faux smile as he comforted his brother, “They will be, they’ve got to be.” The last part was said more to himself than to his brother, but it worked nonetheless. Tubbo fell asleep shortly after. Dream just grabbed his pillow and retreated into the corner closest to the window; he’d always liked it. So, he sat there, burying his face into the pillow as he sobbed quietly. He didn’t know what he was crying for; maybe happy memories that his classmates always boasted about that was never his to savor? Maybe the small things that came with a harmonious family, like peaceful slumber and read-alouds at night. Maybe even for them to just stop fighting? For them to be considerate of Tubbo, if not for him? Maybe a mixture of all those things? Dream didn’t know, but maybe this was just one of those things where it was better off to be left in the dark about. 

\----

Dream was 9 when things became really discordant. They fought in broad daylight now, over things as trivial as a forgotten item on the grocery list. He always snuck Tubbo out on those days. It was just simpler that way, no worries on their minds as he watched Tubbo hang out with a child named Tommy. Dream became friends with Tommy’s brothers, Techno and Wilbur, and noticed the fond looks that their father, Phil, sent them. He buried the tinge of jealousy that rose in him at that; jealousy only blooms into worse things. He forgot the jealousy over time. He’d also met George and Sapnap too, they were great! They made him forget about everything stewing at home, every night spent cowering and cuddling with Tubbo when they started another one of their screaming matches. 

“Dre?” Tubbo asked this time, eyes glassy but with no tears filling them, “When do you think they’ll stop?”

Dream tried to ignore the pain that stabbed at his heart; the fact that old Tubbo would’ve asked what they were doing rather than when they’d stop, but answered anyway, “I don’t know, but it’s got to be soon, right?”

Tubbo nodded, and they slept that way, not bothering to fall into a proper sleeping position, with Dream ignoring the fact that their backs and necks would probably hurt like hell tomorrow. That was exactly that; tomorrow. 

\----

Dream was 10 when his mother finally had had enough and packed up her bags to leave. He and Tubbo had peeked from around a corner as their mother, the one who’d always been the gentler one out of the two, stormed away from the home with only one sorrowful look at the two children she’d left behind. Something else changed too, the bitter and cold feeling of the lack of their mother not being the only new change. His dad- no, his _father_ , started taking his pent-up rage out on him. Screaming and ranting and complaining about how worthless he was. He’d always storm away after a good 10 minutes of yelling to maybe collect himself, maybe to get a glass of water, he didn’t know, as his eyes were always blurry from the tears. Tubbo started staying over at Tommy’s more often, Dream encouraged it. Tubbo didn’t have to witness it at all. 

“Worthless faggot,” his father hissed at him, and Dream clenched his jaw and swallowed, “You’re the reason she left, you know? YOU DO KNOW, RIGHT?” Only when Dream nodded did he settle back with his beer- it was always alcohol- why couldn’t it be water or something? Dream bit his lip when he saw the quickened rising and falling of his father’s chest and knew that Schlatt was about to start screaming at him all over again. Dream was fine with it, as long as Tubbo didn’t take any of it.

\----

He was 11 when the first hit landed. He’d stumbled back in shock, but he really shouldn’t have been. It had been a year since the yelling started, Dream really should have expected the encounters to get physical. The only pain that came from the hits that followed were just thoughts of how his brother would react. How the kids at school would react. He’d always been a social person. 

“The only goddamn reason you’re alive is because you remind me of her!” Schlatt yelled, again, _when did he ever stop yelling?_ , “Hell, I don’t even know why I like that about you, seeing as I hate her! Just call me a masochist, I guess.” Dream never saw it coming, the glass bottle crunching over his head, forcing a sharp yelp of pain out from him. He raised a shaky hand to feel the injury and tensed up when his fingers came away smeared with blood. He looked up at Schlatt, and almost burst into tears from the smug look on his face. What’d he ever do to deserve this? “Being born,” Schlatt answered, spinning around to retrieve another bottle, leaving Dream biting his lip as he realized that he’d spoken his thoughts aloud and that he’d just prolonged his experience. He hated loud noises now.

\----

Dream was 12 when he knew that his excuses of “I ran into a door, I’m such a klutz” and “Oh, uh, a window broke on me” and his neat side-stepping of questions would no longer suffice. Tubbo knew something was up, and how could Dream tell him that what he saw was wrong? After he came home from school, Tubbo walked in to his father, who honestly was only his father in biological terms, beating up his brother, one of his, if not the most, favorite people in the world. Upon hearing the door click open, his father just straightened up and snorted, saying, “Well, the cat’s out of the bag, huh?” before walking away, leaving Tubbo to rush over to Dream’s side.

“Dre, Dre, are you okay?” Tubbo asked worriedly, stiffening when Schlatt laughed.

“Kiddo, he’s fine, he always is,” and he went back to guzzling his beers like always, the rancid stench almost making Tubbo vomit. He watched in fear as Dream blinked slowly, eyes widening in pain when he realized that Tubbo had witnessed it. To Tubbo, it was the stupidest thing in the world! Dream had the audacity to be worried for him when he was literally being beaten on a daily basis? He shook his head, careful to not attract unwanted attention from Schlatt as he got Dream to stand on his feet, and they began stumbling off to the room, where Tubbo watched anxiously as his brother faded in and out of consciousness. He wanted to scream and cry, but he had no time to do so. He really didn’t.

\----

He was 13 when he came home to Tubbo being pressed up against the wall, his father emitting screams. He elbowed Schlatt out of the way and told Tubbo under his breath to go to his room, and Tubbo, scared as he was, did so without complaint. Dream then turned around, and to Schlatt, said, “Just not the hands this time, it’ll be harder to cover.” Schlatt’s face just lit up with sadistic pleasure, and then Dream felt like he wanted to black-out when the punches started landing, one by one by one, the pace increasing over time as inhumane, pained sounds were ripped out of Dream’s throat, resistance long gone. And later, when Dream woke up to Tubbo’s anxious face, he wondered why on earth he was there. And then he lapsed back into darkness.

\----

He was 14 when he sent Tubbo off to live with the Minecrafts’. They were welcoming, and Tubbo could just make up some story of why they were there. Pity wasn’t needed, it accomplished nothing after all. He just came home to bleed, and then get his work done through tear-filled eyes and bruised hands. He wasn’t ready to tell, not yet. Dream just had to suck it up and deal with it, everything was for Tubbo. 

Dream had to learn makeup to cover his bruises and cuts, ignoring the judgmental glances the women in the store gave him when he bought concealer. They knew nothing about him, who were they to judge him? Life fell into a routine, a gruesome one, but it was still repetitive anyhow.

\----

He was 15 years old when he felt ready to tell, yet it was too late. His friends seemed to be forever busy, but that was fine. They probably had much better things to do than worry and fuss over him, after all, he’d said that he was constantly fine. What reason would they have to not believe him? And from afar, he watched as Tubbo seemed lighter, bounding happily with Tommy around town. They’d kept in contact, and Dream still knew that Tubbo loved him, and that was enough for him. He didn’t even want to go home anymore, he just spent nights out by the creek, not sleeping one bit, and breaking inside to retrieve necessary supplies to go on with school life. He knew it wasn’t sustainable, but what was there left to do?

Dream needed to deal with it, he always did. 

\----

He was 16 when his father started using knives. The cuts burned into his skin, blood rising quicker than any punch could ever dream to achieve. He relished in it after the slice was finished, knowing that his father would admire the cut for a long while before making another one when the bleeding slowed. Dream still hid it. He had to. 

Didn’t he?

He wondered if Tubbo was happy.

Watching him from afar, he knew he was.

Staying in contact less, Tubbo seemed okay still. That was good. Dream didn’t need to burden down Tubbo with all of his issues and such. The bleeding stopped. It always did. Nothing new. That was excellent. Change was bad.

\----

Then, he was 17 years of age. Leaning over the railings of a bridge and peering over into the seemingly endless rush of the river and pondering how he got there. He wondered if it was fast enough to wash him away if it was deep enough to hide him from the world. He didn’t like the world anymore. Dream wondered if Tubbo would miss him. He hoped he would, he probably wouldn’t, with all the lack of contact considered. Dream felt a pang of regret but repressed it. After all, Tubbo was better off without him, right? Tubbo didn’t need him. He was just a burden on others’ shoulders. 

He didn’t really need to be there.

Nobody would miss him.

~~Right?~~

He sighed as he began to move, hooking a leg over the railing and not noticing the figure that was approaching in the distance until a hand struck out to stop him, Dream whirling around to see widened eyes and a shaking figure.

“Phil?” he asked Tommy’s father nervously, wondering why on earth he was there. What a sight the pair must’ve made, one covered in bruises and blood, the other shaking yet preventing him from falling.

“Why?” Phil’s voice was shaking, and Dream vaguely wondered why it was shaking. That’d mean Phil actually cared, and he didn’t really believe in that. Maybe it was just his father’s voice that wormed its way into his head. Probably not, the same voice told him. 

“Uh- there’s not really much to say?” Dream tried only to be faced with the skeptical look from Phil and the tightened grip on his arm as Phil pulled him away from the bridge.

“There should be mate, if you’re going to jump off a damn bridge,” Phil replied, leading him into the car, “Look, I’m not going to press further, but you can bet Tubbo will.”

“...How’d you even manage to find me, anyway?” Dream pressed as he slid into the passenger’s seat of the car while Phil went to the driver’s side.

“Well, from what your friends said, you haven’t been replying or anything, so they told me to help keep an eye out for you,” Phil said absentmindedly as he pulled out and away from the bridge. 

“Oh,” Dream responded, completely dumbfounded. 

“Spoiler alert: they do care for you, despite what you may think,” Phil snarked. Dream supposed he deserved it, and besides, he’d heard much worse. “Also, you’re gonna tell me what happened with those cuts and bruises, because as much as Tubbo refused to budge on those, I’m not buying those constant excuses of yours. 

“Seriously?” Dream asked, incredulous.

“Mhm. Seriously,” Phil replied, eyes still focused on the road and not Dream. 

“What happened to not telling?” Dream muttered under his breath but relented anyway. He’d been planning to tell, after all, it didn’t matter if it was a bit late, “Schlatt likes hitting and yelling.” Not the whole thing Dream had prepped internally, but it’d done the job based on the way Phil’s expression contorted into a mixture of ‘Aha, I was right!’ and ‘Shit, that’s bad’. 

“Should’ve known by the way Tubbo flinched every time his father was mentioned,” Phil mused absentmindedly as silence filled the car, broken only by occasional small yelps of pain whenever they hit a bumpy patch of road, Dream’s injuries stinging. 

“Where are we going?” Dream asked, having an idea in his head but needing confirmation.

“To my house, where else?” Phil answered as they approached the location. Silence befell them once again as they wordlessly trudged out of the car, Dream leaning slightly on Phil as the blood loss caught up to him like it always did. He knew he was about to blackout soon, it was inevitable.

\----

Dream woke to see another day, patched up and bandaged. His heart warmed a bit. He’d always had to do such chores by himself, and that was a tough job seeing as he would be aching from the slices that littered his body like trash in Central Park and tired from the bruises that dotted him like splotches of paint.

“Hey,” he managed to say, throat raspy from lack of water. Tubbo looked up, and with a start, Dream realized that his brother’s eyes were watery and his cheeks were a bit red. 

“Dream, why are you forever taking hits for me?” Tubbo asked, not quite angry, but pretty close to it. 

“You’re my brother, aren’t I obligated?” Dream asked, confused as Tubbo just huffed in disbelief.

“Ha, say that to Tech-” a hand was clasped over Tommy’s mouth. Dream blinked. 

“Dre, sure, that’s all fine and dandy, but why didn’t you just leave after I left?” Tubbo moved closer as Dream propped himself up, only hissing a bit as his wounds were jarred once again.

“Well, Schlatt would come after you for one, and well, I’d just disturb everything, _and_ there’s school,” Dream answered, looking up at the ceiling. 

Tubbo just shut his eyes, sighing in frustration before turning on his heels and running off, muttering something about how he hated Dream’s selflessness. 

Dream didn’t really get what he was hinting to.

\----

Dream was 18 when things changed. Schlatt got sent away, and things seemed to be brighter. He’d patched things up with Tubbo, albeit Tubbo’s disbelief at his reasoning and sorrow when Phil told him about the real reason Dream was at the bridge that night, but front Techno’s expression, Dream know that what he had almost done was high on Techno’s list of suspicions. _Pessimist._ Anyhow, Schlatt was gone and he was fine. Well, as long as everyone stopped giving him weird looks like he was about to tear off to the next bridge and leap. Obviously, he wouldn’t. He supposed they didn’t know that. Oh well, they’d learn in time. He had, at least.

**Author's Note:**

> fuck ive got sm to work on but writers block go hehee


End file.
